


and so it begins again,

by whalers



Series: otp: loyal to a fault [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mute Corvo Attano, Near Death Experiences, Unconventional Relationship, because what are daud and thomas without a boatload of issues.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:38:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11644818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalers/pseuds/whalers
Summary: Thomas sits, bare, head tilted downwards, presenting himself to Daud. His whole self, scars and all. All his insecurities. All he ever was, is, will be. Daud’s hands are large, calloused, scarred, rough but not in the way he’s used to. They are always gentle when they touch him. Now, Thomas holds Daud’s hands, admiring all the little marks that make them Daud’s. The mark. Thomas’ own doesn’t flare with ethereal power in quite the same way Daud’s does, but it does burn pleasantly cool now, reacting to Daud’s. He leans down and places a reverent kiss atop the mark. His lips tingle, as if there’s static shock. Daud sighs, deep, soul weary, comfortable.; life isn't fair for people in their profession.





	and so it begins again,

The arcane bond is, special. For lack of a better word. It tingles, it pulls at the soul when Daud calls them into action, sometimes it burns. The whalers have different ways of honoring this particular bond. Some do so quietly, to themselves, others do so more publicly, a kiss to the mark, a caress, a mumbled prayer or incantation as they head off on a dangerous mission. It links back to the Outsider, in some ways. They are thanking _Daud_ , but the mark belongs to the Outsider, and therefore he must feel every little bit of their methods of worship.

Thomas doesn’t like to think of it that way. He is grateful to Daud, not the Outsider. The leviathan, the black eyed deity watching from the void, has never done anything but toy with him, whispering in his ears and dragging his dead fingers across his neck and down his back. Invading his dreams and his waking life. All until it abruptly stopped (though he still hears the whispers when he approaches shrines, still feels cold, still sees the world go murky blue grey black). He is not grateful to the Outsider for his abilities, for those visits, and he never will be. His gratitude is for Daud. He would still be rotting away in the brothel if not for Daud, he would still be nothing more than a cheap fuck for the City Watch, for any man who wants a little blond boy with features they can’t quite place.

Daud has saved him from damnation.

Thomas sits, bare, head tilted downwards, presenting himself to Daud. His whole self, scars and all. All his insecurities. All he ever was, is, will be. Daud’s hands are large, calloused, scarred, rough but not in the way he’s used to. They are always gentle when they touch him. Now, Thomas holds Daud’s hands, admiring all the little marks that make them Daud’s. The mark. Thomas’ own doesn’t flare with ethereal power in quite the same way Daud’s does, but it does burn pleasantly cool now, reacting to Daud’s. He leans down and places a reverent kiss atop the mark. His lips tingle, as if there’s static shock. Daud sighs, deep, soul weary, comfortable.

He takes his hands from Thomas’, places them on his hips, brings him close for a kiss. It’s mostly gentle, needy from Thomas, but skilled, and steady from Daud. Gentle isn’t a word used to describe the Knife of Dunwall. Gentle doesn’t describe assassins. Thomas finds himself surprised, as Daud breaks the kiss to mouth at his neck, pulling him onto his lap, that his leader could be this gentle. Maybe he’s special. Maybe he really truly means something to Daud. Thomas holds onto that thought tightly, like how he grips Daud’s shoulders hard enough to leave little crescents from his nails, as Daud leaves marks on his neck, trails down his chest.

 

* * *

 

Daud’s body is scarred. Thomas has seen it enough times, memorized every inch he possibly can, tracing the scars reverently, like constellations, admiring the tattoos that paint his upper back, parts of his arms. Feodor has talent. Daud’s body is a natural canvas.

Thomas’ own body only has scars and a brand on his lower back. Not beautiful. He is not beautiful and has never been. The closest he comes to anything resembling beauty is the day after nights spent with Daud. He is marked in a different way. A way that makes him feel good about himself, that steadies him. He’s grateful for their uniforms that button up high. His clothes hide the marks (of love? what is this? Daud has said he doesn’t do relationships, but he has also said he doesn’t care much for sex, has also said he doesn’t pick favorites, has also defended him from the Outsider) from the others.

Would they judge him if they knew? Does Rinaldo? He doesn’t know. Everything is so different since Billie betrayed them. How long will they last until this crumbling city plunges them into the waves? Thomas knows Daud awaits his death by Corvo’s hands.

 

* * *

 

 _He’s going to leave without us_ , Finn tells him in a terrified hush, gripping his shoulders. His eyes shine with tears in the candlelight. Thomas’ mouth feels dry.

 _He won’t_ , he breathes, _he_ can’t _._ Thomas feels terror grip his heart.

Finn throws himself at Thomas, shoves his face against his shoulder, heaves a silent sob. The weight of the word seems to burden their shoulders even more in this moment, more than ever. Thomas wordlessly holds Finn back, too scared of the possibilities, too surprised at the situation to move away.

They stay that way until Daud walks down the hall. They wrench apart, averting gazes. They transverse away before Daud even gets close enough to see the tears that wet their cheeks.

 

* * *

 

 _I love you, I love you_. It’s a mantra. _I’d die a million deaths for you._

 _You deserve better_ , Daud hisses, hands on either side of Thomas’ head.

 _No_. Thomas feels close to crying. He tangles his fingers in Daud’s hair, pulls him closer, shivers in the cold wind that blows in through the hole in the ceiling. He presses a gentle kiss to the long scar going down Daud’s face. You _deserve better._

 

* * *

 

Corvo’s blade pierces Thomas’s chest, the cold unfeeling mask boring deep into his eyes. This method of death is personal but the mask makes it feel wholly impersonal, as if Corvo can distance himself from what he’s done. Thomas chokes on his blood, gritting his teeth, his trembling hand gripping the blade.

 _I won’t let you_ , he chokes out, coughing. It hurts hurts hurts but he won’t back down. He will defend Daud until his dying breath.

Corvo hesitates, surprised, confused, the mask hides his emotions. His body language reads puzzled, not expecting Thomas’ reply, the unyielding loyalty, the willingness to die so painfully for someone who’s committed such atrocities. He doesn’t understand. He grunts, lifts a hand, hesitantly, (does he do this because he knows Thomas is going to die, because he knows Daud isn’t going anywhere?), signs, _why?_

There are so many answers to this question. His mind is a haze of pain. It hurts to breathe. The blood in his throat feels like it’s constantly choking him, no matter how many times he swallows, no matter how many times he coughs it up. _He is my everything_. His legs shake violently. Corvo starts to lower him gently onto the floor. Is he the first person Corvo has killed, have there been others? _You should understand._

Corvo’s grip on the blade tightens. He moves to pull it out. There’s a rush of void, a choked gasp, the unmistakable sound of a blade piercing flesh. Rulfio growls, a sound of frustration, a sound of pure anger. He twists his blade in Corvo’s chest, pulling it out in a swift movement. He shoves Corvo hard to the ground, his and Thomas’ and Daud’s blood mixing in a pool of dark red. It seeps into the floorboards. The smell is nauseating.

Thomas hears voices calling his name. Everything seems far away. He has completed his duty. He wants to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Consciousness comes in stages.

There is mostly pain. So much pain that he screams and cries _please stop stop stop._ Wetness dampens his cheeks. Others are crying too, near him, on him. A voice shouts _Get out! Everyone but Jenkins and Hobson get out!_ Whatever they are doing to him, he wants it to stop. No one listens.

The darkness is welcomed with open arms. He wishes he could stay in its painless embrace for all eternity. This should be the void though he knows that it is not. The void wouldn’t spit him back out into the blindly bright world of blood and pain. The void is grey and blue and black and sometimes purple. This darkness is all consuming, gentle, comforting. He never wants to leave. It is the peaceful silence he has always longed for.

 

* * *

 

Dunwall is falling.

Thomas sits in bed, propped up by thin pillows, a threadbare blanket thrown over his legs. It’s been weeks since Corvo floated into their crumbling home. What is left for them here? The whalers pace the halls anxiously, whisper amongst themselves, fret over the state of the isle. Will they fall too?

 _I think we’re leaving_ , Rulfio says, placing a tray of food on Thomas’ lap. He doesn’t want to eat this. Rulfio’s cooking is terrible. _Once you’re better, I mean._

 _Everyone?_ Thomas’ voice is raspy from disuse. He coughs a little, takes the cup of water Finn offers him.

 _Yeah. I screamed at him. He -_ Rulfio glares out the window. _He was going to leave without us. After everything. After you almost died! He wanted to leave without us! I screamed at him so loud I think the whole district heard it._

Thomas doesn’t know what to say. He stares at the plate of unappetizing food as Rulfio keeps talking, tells him Daud’s plans, as Finn paces from the bed to the window, as Rinaldo comes in to check his vitals. He wants to go back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

_Why?_

Thomas stands in the doorway of Daud’s room.

Serkonos is warmer than he’s used to. It’s sunny and lively and the food has so many spices. Their vineyard is pitiful, but they’re happier and more comfortable than they’ve ever been in the Flooded District. The land is vast. They are no longer in constant danger of being turned over to the Abbey, of being gutted in their sleep. The air is fresh. A new chapter in all their lives. Thomas enjoys it. But there is that little parasite of a question that keeps him up at night, that halts his hands when he should he tilling the soil. He can’t take it anymore. He needs answers.

Daud doesn’t look at him. Thomas can’t read his expression.

_I told you. You deserve better._

_I nearly died for you_. His voice is a whisper. _All of that, everything, was it… was it nothing?_ He is being too forward. He can’t stop himself. His hands shake as he grips the door frame.

Daud grits his teeth, shuts his eyes tight, sighs like he’s been holding it in for ages. _No_ . He shakes his head. _No. That’s not - Thomas._ The name comes out as a hiss, hints of desperation in his voice, as if he’s trying to make Thomas see what is so obvious. _You’re - important to me. I let Corvo come to me and I didn’t stop to think, in all my self loathing, that he may hurt any of you. You almost died. I let that happen -_

_You didn’t, I’ve always -_

_I let that happen,_ Daud repeats firmly.

Thomas shakes his head. Why is his vision so blurry? _I did it for you and I would do it again. This is how it’s always been._

Daud stands, the chair clattering noisily to the floor. He’s in front of Thomas in a flash and Thomas flinches but stares up at him, brow furrowed, determined glint in his eyes. There is a lot that is unspoken. The eyes are the windows to the soul, as they say. Daud means for Thomas to live happily, not giving his life for someone who does not and has never deserved it. Thomas is resolute. The only way he is leaving Daud’s side is if he falls in a fight for the final time, breathes his last breath defending Daud. Two stubborn men; there is no way of convincing Daud he is truly worth more than the blood on his hands, no way of convincing Thomas he is more than where he’s come from.

Thomas places his hand, which has not stopped shaking, against the side of Daud’s face. _I would do it all again for you._

Daud holds Thomas’ shoulders. His hands are warm, shake only slightly. He’s missed those hands. _You are too loyal for your own good._

_I don’t care._

They kiss. It’s been much too long.

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck is this.


End file.
